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World Fantasy Convention

Earlier this month I attended my first ever World FantasyConvention (WFC). I traveled all the way to Washington DC, all by my lonesome, and
checked into one of those giant corporate hotels that are mostly comfortable
but also vaguely unsettling. (Why, oh why do they insist on carpeting their
endless hallways with vertigo-inducing patterns?)

I knew a few familiar ladies would be attending,
most of whom I met at Sirens (see this post, or this one) or through the ever-sweet Gili Bar-Hillel on twitter. Otherwise I was expecting a
whole lot of strangers and strangeness. It is, after all, a convention for
fantasy writers, readers, industry professionals, and fans. I felt sure there
would be horns. Maybe wings.*

The other group at the hotel that weekend turned out to be RollingThunder (bikers in support of POW/MIA veterans). In a few short hours, I was lost in a sea of black leather jackets,
Technicolor hairdos, prosthetic limbs, and intricate Celtic jewelry. I felt quite small and desperately
alone. I ate my first dinner by myself, in a random burrito place, and yes, it
was gross and depressing. I began to think I’d made a terrible mistake.

Then, by nightfall, I met one lovely person, and then
another, and another. The next morning, after a few more familiar faces
arrived, I was in the near-constant company of smart, interesting, kind people who all believe in
Story. I spent the next three days talking, absorbing, listening, watching, and
learning from some of the most fabulous people in the fantasy business.

Usually, when I attend a conference or convention I blog
about the content, about the programming and what I learned there. There were
certainly some great panels and excellent readings at WFC, but what I
really want to highlight are a few of the real life characters I got to hang
out with, because they were, by far, the most powerful part:

I left on Sunday realizing that once again, I’d been
incredibly lucky to meet such good folk, and to survive staying up ‘til 3am
three nights in a row. I know who I want to be when I grow up. I know why these
stories matter. I know why I journey.

When life gets hard, when I feel slumpy and tired, when I’m
running out of story ideas, I’ll think about WFC. I’ve got work to do.

*There were no wings this year, that I saw, but there were most
definitely horns.

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